The morning of the follow-up appointment, Franz woke before dawn and couldn't fall back asleep.
Arianne was beside him, her body curled on its side, her breathing deep and even. She'd been sleeping more this week—exhaustion pulling her under at odd hours, the way the doctor had warned she would.
The morning sickness had been relentless. Franz had watched her throw up so many times he'd lost count, had learned to recognize the particular pallor of her skin just before she pushed herself up and stumbled toward the sink. Aunt Estella had been a quiet miracle, bringing broth and water and cool cloths, sitting with Arianne during the worst of it while Franz was at work. Meanwhile, his mother had taken the twins on the weekend, giving the house silence and peacefulness that Arianne needed.
